Let Go
by A Feather of Pepa
Summary: An Epilogue of 9. Reflections will be made by the B.R.A.I.N., causing a little flashback. Explanations and such. Reincarnation and second chances... Always taken for granted. But, I want to change that. Me, a Beast, the Master of Beasts. The robot that started it all. The war I cause, the pain I made. The loved ones who died at my hands. But now... I want to say... I'm so sorry...
1. Chapter 1

Maybe I should be glad that I'm dead. Maybe I should be grateful to those little stitchpunks. Maybe I should be relieved that I'm not hurting anyone anymore. That the new era of environment is at its beginning, and new creatures will dwell.

But instead, I feel a cold, empty feeling swelling up inside of me.

Is that wrong? Should I feel regretful? Is it bad that I don't feel anything but bitter, frosty cold? Can a machine feel anything at all?

Maybe not.

Maybe I'm just imagining things. Maybe it's not there. Maybe I just wish I were like those damned stitchpunks. And, no. I don't mean to insult them using that phrase… It's a word that I once heard Master use. I calculated it to mean cursed, or unfortunate- that of which they truly were. They were auspicious to even be alive at that point. Well…

They can't die. No one can die. Their souls live on. They glide into the darkening night sky. As a machine, I'm not required to believe in such religious statements. But maybe they are true. Otherwise, how would I be here? In the cold, empty black space, where I can't hear or see anyone? I'm alone, so terribly alone. But I deserved it, after all that I committed myself to. I guess. But shouldn't I be in pain, after all those who I inflicted agony upon? It would serve me right.

I'm not saying that I regret anything. But I'm not saying that I'm proud of it, either. I'm neutral.

I wonder… can those little creatures feel anything? Like pain, or nostalgic? Perhaps even depression? I know that diminutive one, with the six painted on his back- the unstable oracle. Unstable, indeed- however… he acted as a human child would, playful and determined. A certain fondness that the group shared of him was showed every single day.

I felt it waving off of them. I felt the pain and the silent cries of desperation when his soul was sucked away.

By me.

The… main antagonist. The auspicious machine that was originally created as a B.R.A.I.N.- a thinking robot- and then turned into a damned war automaton called the 'Fabrication Machine'! What a sick and twisted fate! Though I always resented humans. They never learned from their mistakes in history.

You want to know my story? I can tell you that. Yes? Let's start then.

I was born, or rather, created, on August 21st, where WW4 took place. It was the monotonous year of 3877… That's what I've calculated. I was kept hidden, by my master… I had a feeling that the old, frail man loved me like his own. When the day occurred when I officially owned a pair of… "arms", he told me to use them. We were in his lab at the time. He resented it when intruders waltzed right in and pronounced whatever vacuous news that may have possessed. Well, I can comprehend that- I mean, if you were in your room, minding your own business, and a younger sibling walked in to fiddle with your belongings, how would you feel? I would feel rather livid. If I _could_ feel.

Anyway. We're getting off topic, no?

We lived in Germany. It was, supposedly, a nice place one time. But time and war and pollution ran it down, only leaving decaying houses and plants in its wake… What a nice place to raise a child up, hmm? Well, continuing on! I was an experiment originally designed for creating other machines. Of course, I had no dilemma with that- as long as I got to do what I wanted, of course. To build what I wanted. And Father understood that.

He elucidated that it was perfectly normal for me to yearn for freedom. He told me that every man in the world wished for it, but could not be granted liberty because of the wars. Funny how I can't necessarily talk, and yet… he understands my wants and needs. And he talks to me as if I am human. I think I know why, too. He put a bit of his soul into me, if not literally, than figuratively. But both don't matter. The spirit reproduces when there is something about it that it cares deeply for, and offers the extra bit to the creature. That's what brought me to life. And that's what Father explained. He said that he planned on placing the rest of his soul into nine little robots, so I must've been the tenth. For some vacuous rationale, I felt sorrow brimming in my crimson glowing eye. I was grieving. I didn't want Master to die. He loved me like I was some naïve child eagerly learning something new each day, and I didn't want that to suddenly just vaporize.

Pretty stupid, right?

I mean, how foolish is it that some damned machine felt something stir inside the tiny soul bit? Hah, like I could actually feel anything at all. I only just figured out later that I was given the soul bit of his negativity. Everyone thought I just lacked a soul altogether, but only Master and I knew the truth. And look at what happened to the results…

The dictator. Take out the parts, 'tator' and what do you have? That's exactly what I thought of him. He was a selfish jerk who wanted his enemies destroyed. He waltzed into the lab with men following behind and ordered them to take master away. I could see the look in Father's eyes. Pain, anguish, and desperation. I shared the precious emotions. I wanted him to come back. I wanted… my Papa back. But the men took him away from me. It was from that moment that hatred blinded me. I hated the man that ordered me to reform into the 'Fabrication Machine'. I hated the fact that I had to make dozens of war robots and send them on their way. I became corrupted by anguish that I made them turn against the humans, and that's when WW5 started… all the humans were wiped out eventually, but I remained, exhausted by releasing the toxic gas, falling into an endless unconscious state.

But then… the light at the end of the tunnel came. The little stitchpunk called 9 placed the talisman inside of me. It awakened me. But I was still corrupted, and I took 2's life.

At least, that's what I thought.

No. He was trapped inside of me. I was a spherical prison for the souls that I sucked out. They were safe within me, I knew. They weren't in any danger. But then the bridge incidents occurred… I'm not sure of what happened next, but when I died, I was sent to this place.

So… yup. Now that you've heard my life story, I guess I'm prepared to let go. By 'let go' I mean… to rest in peace. But there's one more thing I need to say…

"Stitchpunks…" I murmur out loud. I don't know why, but in this vast space, I'm enabled to speak… My glowing red eye looks out into the endless galaxies.

"I'm… I'm sorry."


	2. Chapter 2

_Whiiiiiiiiiirr…. Click click click!_

**SYSTEM OVERLOAD.**

_Snip! Grrrrrlllll…_

**AUTOMATON ACCESSABILITY?**

Yeah.

_Krrrrrrrrrrrl!_

**EYE LENSE SCAN COMPLETE- 67% OPERATIONAL.**

… Good.

_Snrrrrrrrrll… Ktch! Ktch!_

**WARNING: HIGH RISK OF LIMB FAILURE.**

Rationale?

**PREQUENTLY CONNECTED WIRES AT RISK OF IMPULSE- PRESSURE OVERLOAD! PRESSURE OVERLOAD!**

**SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN…**

No, no, no! Don't fail on me…

**SYSTEMS RESTORING… 33% COMPLETE… 58% COMPLETE…**

Phew!

**LIMB FRACTURES… REPAIR?**

No… I don't think I'll need nine arms anyway.

**RELEASING ARMS FROM DEFUNCT BEING…. COMPLETE.**

…

**PREPARED WEAPONRY AT FULL CHARGE. EQUIP?**

… No…

**ARRANGING TO ROUSE ALL SYSTEMS… PREPARED?**

As much as I'll ever be…

_!_

At the sound of silence do I wake. The skies were a sickly, olive green, indicating the opportunity of acid rain. Clouds threaten to consume the heavens.

_Whhiiiiieeek!_

My core leaps with alarm as a strange noise breaks the silence. I try to flex one of my two arms (typically, the right; I'm right-handed) but the sound screeches again. It's like a rusty nail on chalkboard.

_AH!_ I cry, but with shock at what I have newly determined. I… can speak. What? But… but that's impracticable! I have no vocal cords to begin with; only a use for creativity and a talent with my two limbs. I stiffen with… _WHAT_? Fear? But… that's…

For wimps!

Haha, just kidding… just a weak attempt to lighten this rather pessimistic mood… I found myself plunged into a deeper panic attack.

_What's going on? Where am I?_ I shriek, blinking my crimson eye lense. Being a Cyclopes isn't as hard as people-

… people…

My robotic core gently sinks, as does my aggressive fear. That was _my_ fault. But I can't think about it right now. I have to keep it together.

The world is just as I left it. Dark, hazardous, and just about feckless. Oh, I see what's going on… I was reincarnated. My purpose here, on Earth, wasn't exactly as the Scientist had made it out to be. For one, I screwed it all up by instead of saving the population of humans, I took 'em all out. For two… Gosh, I'm going to have to work with those little stitchpunks now, aren't I? To save what might be left of life on this planet? Even I had seen it. The beautiful glow of emerald green raindrops descending from the heavens, splattering the burnt, crisp soil and smothering it with gorgeous grass.

I recognize the signs of winter closing in, but even if we brought back the weather, seasons, and plant life, what would we do about curing the human's diminish? And, would the stitchpunks even forgive me? For hurting their loved ones, and even taking the life out of them?

Frankly, I'd rather not think about it.

I shudder as I feel 7's imaginary gaze burning a hole through my core. She, above all, will hate my GUTS- pardon me- machinery. But I have no choice. In order to have their faith renewed- well, not that there was any there in the first place- I will have to tolerate her atrocious attitude. I'll have to deal with the audacity of the little doll resembling a tomboy. You know, I'll have to withstand A LOT of things… But I suppose that it could be worse.

A cold breeze flittered in. It sent a frosty shiver down my spherical being, not really adding on with the drastic scene- oh, _wait a second_! I can FEEL! I can feel temperature! At this realization, my machine pieces- my very core, they're vibrating! Joy filters my entire body. I can feel emotions! With this, I scramble up onto my two arms, lifting myself into the air. Although most of it, I could bet, smells like decaying, foul stuff, I'm sure that there's a silver lining.

_All right. Time to think_. I say to myself. _Where could they have gone off to-_

_Cackle, cackle! Sllirrt!_

With a stunned blink of my ruby red optical, I tense. The source of the sound is so… familiar. Perhaps someone is hiding behind the pile of rubble before me? But if so…

Then the only living thing that can be out here is a stitchpunk!

I'm paralyzed. The only thing I can do is stand like a deer in headlights. Who's out there? Are they all right? And, most of all…

Are they spying?

_Hello? Is… is anyone there?_ I call out carefully, slowly dragging myself forward, nearing the pile of rubbish. As my large body approaches the stack, I hear an alarmed gasp, identified as… no. it can't be! Is that… _6's_ voice? But… but he's dead! In panic, I round the corner in seconds to see that little boy corned against drift wood, looking at me in raw fear. _6?_ I gasp, eyes wide. _Answer me, 6! Is that you?_ He responds with a scream and covers his little black striped face in his small, inked hands. _Nononononononono!_ I hiss, backing up in a hurry. _Nonono! Don't worry! I'm not going to hurt you! Please!_

The oracle tears his hands away, shaking, and stares at me, the monster, the beast.

The antagonist.

"B.R.A.I.N… B.R.A.I.N. is… is alive…. Not… possible…" The unsteady stitchpunk whispers to himself, staring at his hands.

_But it is, 6_. I say gently, and _B.R.A.I.N. isn't going to hurt you anymore_. He glances up at me, the fear slowly subsiding.

"Beast… not going to… hurt me?" he asks leisurely. I know it's hard for him to speak steadily; most think he's insane, but it is the visions that impeded his ability to talk straight. I shake my body in the best way to say 'no'. With an unstable smile, he weakly reaches out a hand to touch me. I guess, for him, it's a way to know he's really secure. So I extend with a slow arm, and he grabs onto it, his fear melting away. "Kind…" he says. If I had a mouth, it would be graced with a smile…

_6…_ I say. _How are you still… alive? Do you remember…? _6 gives me a feeble smile.

"I remember… dead then alive… fresh as new… green droplets from the sky… reincarnated by… green souls fluttering from the firmament…. But… have a question." I nod for him to continue, gently lifting the youngster up onto my arm. There he perches, his hair fluffed up. "How… you alive? 9… he made resting place… put you in it. Rebuilt you, too." My core grows warm. _Thank you, 9._ I think.

_I think I am here for the same reason, 6_. I reply. _But where are the others? Shouldn't you be with them?_ His eyes glow bright and a smile works his way to his mouth.

"They… playing with the younger ones… 3 and 4. 8… much kinder now… 1 retired from leader… 2 teaching us…"

That's nice to hear… I murmur. I can just imagine the twins giggling telepathically, scampering around, pulling pranks. Can you… can you take me to them? 6 points a ways off, not too far. Just a little shack, or cottage, out in the middle of nowhere.

I emerge from the fresh plants to see the twins play fighting in a clearing. I duck back carefully whilst 6 clings on, intent on seeing me approach this situation. Their cloaks drift in the breeze, and the hoods hiding their faces nearly confuse me from which, if not for the numbers painted on their backs. Instead, I use my robotic telepathy to speak to them…

_You saw me once before in your life. You looked upon me with fear. But do so no longer, for I am not dangerous to you anymore._

3, the little female, perks up in astonishment. She flickers to her brother, who has stiffened with shock, and both glance towards my hiding place. They scuttle eagerly, only to see the beast in their life. At once, agitation floods their optics. They threaten to run, but then catch sight of the slightly older brother sitting on my head. "Hi… 3, 4… Beast, fine…" they still eye me with distrust. The girl, weaker- the boy, stronger.

_What do you want, Beast?_ Demands 4, anger flashing in his black optics. I meet his gaze steadily.

_To meet up with the rest of the group._

"What's going on here?" asks a familiar voice. I shrink into the bushes, but it's too late.

9 eyes me with terror.

"_BEAST!_"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Oh, my. I'm in a pickle now.

Can't guess, can ya? After discovering 6 was alive and that the group was thriving, then being found by 9 and cornered by the entire lot? Yup. I'm totally not in trouble. Just chillin'.

7 presses her spear against the thick metal of my spherical body, with surprisingly enough force to crack the steel. Her eyes are narrowed into a malevolent snarl as she extracts her justice and revenge, plunging her spear deep into my figure. As the layer of chrome skin snaps, I let out a loud, anguished scream of pain and struggle backwards to flee, only to have 8 behind me and hurl something big and sharp into my vertebrae. "Take that, brainboy!" 7 gives a harsh laugh, twirling something teasingly in her small hands. I pry open my crimson optical wider to see her spear. I can't bring myself to hurt them. Not again, not even to defend myself. I can only stand in agony, cringing at the upcoming events.

"_No!_"

I can hear 6 screaming as he's being held back by 1 and 5. 9 isn't much of an attacker, so he's standing beside them, handling 3 and her detesting older brother 4 and keeping them from danger. Honestly, what danger comes from a monster being attacked for no freaking reason? Don't I have a say in ANYTHING? My pain is burning, yet they have the intention of shutting me down. 7 is the worst of them.

I don't like her.

Then there's 2, I note as I cower against a tree stump. I'm flat on the ground, crouched over as I try not to whimper in pain. His old eyes are like, STARING INTO MY SOUL.

Quite literally.

And me, he doesn't want me to stare back. He doesn't want me to take his soul. I look away. But the small gesture is a plead for it all to end. It's a silent message, to him, that how short and blunt it may be, I sincerely hate my own guts for all that I have committed myself to. That no matter hard I try, I can never forgive myself, but could only beg for forgiveness from them.

And hope, with all my soul, that they forgive me.

_Please..._ I whisper to him. My words fall on deaf ears from the others, due to my intentions of talking to him and only to him. The old inventor stitchpunk sadly stares at me with his aged optics, as if helpless for a restless soul. _I'm sorry... I... I can only wish that you... That you... Live in peace. If only I could traverse through time and space, perhaps I could walk a diverse fate..._

It's getting so hard to talk. My pain is so indescribable, enough to know that, do I not get help, I WILL die. Again. But I will not regret it this time. I've said what I've needed... It's up to 2 and Fate.

And, regardless of my words, a phenomenon occurs.

6, omnipotent, breaks free of his captors, eyes ablaze in livid anger. "STOP IT!" he screams. I can literally hear imaginary tears in his miserable voice. "PLEASE STOP!" his strangled cry makes the others, even 7, for Christ's sake, pause. The little striped boy stitchpunk, which can only really match the age of desperate eight, runs to me, pressing his little inked hands against my crimson eye optical. "Please… B.R.A.I.N.… all right?" he whimpers.

I'm touched. I haven't been cared for like this. It's almost like I have a family of two. _I'm all right, 6…_ I say quietly, bringing one of my arms that rested on the ground around him and gently rubbed his back. _I'm all right…_ He presses his little head against my optical, looking soothed. I guess I may not be lacking negative emotions, but at least I don't lack compassion.

"What are you _doing_, 6? _Get away from it!_" comes 7's order, smacking my metal pelt with her spear. I cringe and impossibly, fiery red anger bolts into the little oracle's lenses. He's livid.

_6… Calm down… It's all right…  
_

I'm sure that, had he been built with tear sacks, 6 would be bawling. But he, like nine others, can only describe his sorrow through communication. "No… not all right… you don't… deserve this…" he whimpers.

This little stitchpunk, though woven like a voodoo doll from threads of yarn and zippers, cares for me.

A little part of my callous core warms up a bit. "Please… No more…" turning around, he stares his family in the eyes. "No more. It… no, he… I… Please, he can't… impair us… Not in… his programming, see?" his gives a sweep of his inky hands in my direction…

And I literally have no idea what to say.

"6 is right." 2 steps towards me, smiling broadly, and walks forth until both of our figures are inches apart. "Glad to see you, old friend," he whispers to me.

I can only flinch painfully in response while he turns, wrapping an arm around 6, while cocking his head to one side. "Didn't you younglings notice something off about his character? Before, he was omnipotent and would refuse to back down, and keep pressing at a fight. But don't you see? He can't bear to hurt us. Not after everything he's caused."

_Wow. You're _good_._ I laugh quietly to him. Only 2 and 6 are capable of hearing.

"In any case," he flashes me a warm smile in response. "I think he's also, like 6 said, emotionally programmed to defend, not attack."

_Yup. You got me._

7 glares at me. It's almost enough to burn a hole through my head. "I don't care _what_ kind of _programming_ that _thing_ has been given. _I'm_ not going to trust _it_."

In all honesty, 9 and 1, not to mention 3, look all for it. 5's nervously staring at me, hiding safely behind 8, who gives me a nonchalant stare. 4 crosses his arms and slits his eyes, expression unreadable. Although, there was a thorough hint of trepidation. _He_ was _scared_? Of all stitchpunks?

Then again, these are the twins we're talking about. They're majorly skittish, and scuttle far from danger.

"Clearly," 7 snarls, "we _rebels_ are voted out. _You_," pointing an accusing finger at me, her snarl deepens. "Are _not_ coming in to sleep with the rest of us. _Got that_? I'm not going to tolerate your gas stench."

I roll my eyes. _I can't fit in your little tunnel home anyway, smart one. And, what? You suddenly grew a sense of smell?_ In disapproval, 2 shakes his head at me.

"You don't want to be a bad influence, now, dear friend." He warns quietly, out of ear range for the others. I nod a little reluctantly.

_Guess so…_

"Right!" he exclaims with a smirk. A bit louder, he adds, "I think we should tuck ourselves in. It's getting late." As they mumble under their breaths about staying up longer, amid my actual reliance, 6 lingers out a bit longer.

"I… stay out… with you?" he asks me hopefully. I would smile, but I have no mouth, so I telepathically chuckle. Then I shake myself to deny his offer.

_No, little one. Go get some sleep, and warm up with your family._ He doubtfully stares at me, then unzips his zipper and looks inside. Inside, there is his glowing orb- the soul of which he was revived with, glowing a healthy emerald green. And built around it was his robotic parts, and a heater that the Scientist installed in each of them. Except me.

"You no… have heater." He presses, concerned. He has a point… I'll freeze to death out here. But I can't let his family think I hurt him, if he stays out here.

_I'll be fine…_ I lie eventually, head butting him gently in the direction of the decaying cottage and the tunnel beside it. _Go on._

And so, the night began.


End file.
